by Rachel Heath
Madeline hesitated. Then she seemed to understood. Sharla proffered the back of her slender hand, with short oval nails polished a frosty pink. Madeline took it and kissed it, humbly, bending at the knee to do so. She turned it around and kissed the palm and rubbed it over her own face.
Duchess lifted Sharla and put her down, carefully, on the bed. Sharla’s hand felt for her own auburn curled jungle. She closed her eyes in the soft pleasure of gratitude. Duchess and Madeline kissed her lovingly. There was no anger now, no contempt.
And for Sharla, no shame. It was washed away, at least for now. Thoroughly punished, her sins were cleansed and she was holy now; a shrine entered reverently by her devotees.
***
The relationship between the three women had had its tentative beginning some three years previously when Lydia (Duchess) and Sharla were college roommates/lovers and Madeline was a close friend (who didn’t go to college but was selling new cars) they both had crushes on.
Sharla and Lydia thought it was inevitable they got tight because they were, in Sharla’s words, “second-generation dykes.” Sharla’s Mom had conceived her through artificial insemination (“a documented virgin birth,” as Sharla observed); Lydia was the product of an agreement (somehow consummated) between her gay Dad and dyke Mom.
“Pat Robertson or Jimmy Swaggert or Phyllis Schlafly could probably point to us as the danger of queers raising kids,” Sharla once told Lydia.
“You might be a worse example than me,” Lydia said, “Since you’re gay and I’m bi.”
Another time, after talking at length about their sexual fantasies (Sharla, who was an English/Sociology major, had been writing hers down for some time and had shown them to Lydia), Lydia said, “It’s a wonder you’re not an ex-Catholic or something drastic like that. There’s so much sexual guilt in your fantasies.”
“I know,” Sharla agreed with a sheepish smile. “Maybe that comes from the fact that I got spanked as a kid even though my mother didn’t believe in spanking.”
“You were that much of a brat?” Lydia teased.
“Mom never swatted me but one of the girlfriends did. Of course, I love Annie, I spent last vacation with her--that’s not her name, I call her that because they tried to get me to call her “Aunt”--but she was a bottom-smacker.”
“I never got spanked either,” Lydia confided, “but most of the kids I knew did and I always wanted to hang around to hear the fireworks when their parents let them have it. Even then, the whole ritual held a kind of dark excitement.”
“Also, it’s bizarre but I rebelled in my teen years by going religious and I did go Catholic for awhile,” Sharla said.
“Yeah?”
“Not that long of awhile. But I went to Mass and got baptized and told Mom she was living sinfully and all that. I know what Madonna’s talking about when she says nuns are sexy. I always wondered about what those long, flowing habits were covering up.”
“I never had any problem with my church because Unitarians aren’t sexist or homophobic,” Lydia said.
“Actually, I think the main reason I went Catholic for awhile was to impress my best friend, whom I had a crush on. I went through a whole bunch of different religions after that but always something pretty whacko, anti-feminist, anti-dyke--Assembly of God for a month of Sundays (‘wives submit to your husbands’ was the standard sermon) and I even went to a Hare Krishna temple for awhile. Like I said, I think it was all to tell Mom to go straight and to show that I wasn’t like her, I wasn’t lesbian.”
“I rebelled in the old-fashioned way,” Lydia recalled. “I stayed out late and drank and smoked pot. Mom didn’t like any of that although she did sat she’d rather have me smoking dope than getting drunk.”
“There was one time when I was a kid when I got my Mom in trouble,” Sharla reminisced. “She and her girlfriend had been smoking pot and I called the cops.”
“Sharla! You called the cops on your own mother!” Lydia was quite genuinely shocked.
“I sure did,” Sharla replied, with a pensive squint. She shrugged and added sardonically, “What a snitch.”
That same evening, after watching a sexy episode of Melrose Place, the two started making love: kissing and holding and stroking and caressing and licking. “Duchess,” Sharla purred into Lydia’s ear, licking the lobe and sending a thrill through Lydia, “Why don’t you spank me?”
“Ohhh, maybe I will,” Duchess said. “Why should I spank you, Sharla?”
“I’m a snitch. I called the cops on my own mother.” Sharla kissed Duchess on the mouth, tongues exploring and loving.
“Oh, yes, you are a bad girl,” Duchess said, pulling Sharla across her lap. Sharla’s miniskirt was already hiked up her over buttcheeks.
“Pull those pretty panties down,” the Duchess ordered.
Sharla instantly obeyed and Duchess looked at two very round, very firm alabaster-white buttocks.
“Oh, what pretty cheeks!” Duchess cried. “How tender and vulnerable,” she said as she stroked and pulled on the hams.
Then she slapped the cheeks-- swat!
“Ohhhh,” Sharla breathed and giggled.
The flat of Lydia’s palm came down again.
“Ow!” Sharla squealed and giggled again.
“I’ve got to get serious with you, young lady,” Duchess remonstrated. She brought her palm down, hard, several times in quick succession. Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat! Swat!
“Ow! Oooo!” Sharla squealed. Her shapely legs kicked in the air. “Oh, Duchess, you’re so mean!”
“I’m mean, am I?” Duchess asked rhetorically. “Well, let’s see just how mean, mean can be.” She slapped again--Swat! Swat! Swat!--as the plump cheeks bounced and pinkened. She let Sharla up and kissed her on the mouth; as Duchess Lydia did so, her hand went to Sharla’s garden and found it well and freshly irrigated.
The two women fell back on the bed, submissive Sharla on top and bouncing her pubic area enthusiastically on her lover’s thigh as she cried, “Duchess! Duchess! Oh, my great Duchess!”
***
Sharla and Lydia began doing scenes in earnest. The scenes became more ritualized with time and the instruments of correction expanded to include slippers, paddles, rulers, and a belt.
It was after both had graduated from college (though Sharla was pursuing an M.B.A) and set up housekeeping, that they started courting Madeline in earnest.
“I’ve always believed humans aren’t naturally monogamous,” Madeline told them, over dinner after a vanilla sex three-way, “but I do think people are naturally jealous.”
“I’d agree with that,” Sharla said. “It’s a problem, for sure.”
“Same here,” Lydia said, with a sigh. “I don’t think anything works out perfectly. Gay or straight, vanilla or S/M, monogamous or poly--there will always be failure.”
“If not out-and-out horror stories,” Sharla added. “But that’s no reason not to try. If it works out, it does, if it doesn’t... “ Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.
“I love both of you,” Madeline said warmly.
Lydia and Sharla beamed.
“But... “ Madeline cleared her throat. “You love each other more than either of you loves me.” She threw down the gauntlet.
“That’s true,” Sharla said forthrightly. “But we just want to be with you as well. I know you’d probably still date other people and... if you found someone... who didn’t want us in your life, well, we’d accept it. But that’s no reason we can’t enjoy us--the three of us--for now, is it?”
Madeline thought. Then she smiled and said, “No, it’s not.”
***
Madeline never moved in with Lydia and Sharla; she liked her own space and, besides, her apartment was only a fifteen minute drive away from the one-story tract home that Lydia and Sharla shared. But Madeline was often there and, through the magic of their imaginations, the modest abode frequently turned into an enchanted castle of sexual magic.
Like this time whe
n Sharla was the whore and Madeline was Duchess’s girlfriend and that distinction was brought into sharpest focus.
Sharla was sitting on the couch with her knees apart and her long
frilly skirt bunched up over her thighs.
“Sharla,” Duchess said, “Pull your blouse up, baby. I want Madeline to see how pretty your breasts are.”
Sharla pulled her blouse up, exposing large firm, lightly freckled, alabaster breasts and pale pink nipples. “Mistress, why doesn’t she ever undress in front of anybody?” a pouting Sharla asked, indicating Madeline.
Duchess put one hand under Sharla’s chin, and with the other she slapped her across the face, hard, on both sides. “How dare you compare Madeline with yourself? Madeline is my girlfriend! You’re just my whore! Just my whore, Sharla, you understand?.”
“I’m sorry, Duchess,” Sharla said, bowing her head. “I guess I just forgot my place.”
“You better not forget it again.”
Yes, Milady.”
“Go over to Madeline right now and apologize to her for insulting her that way, Sharla. And kiss her feet.”
Sharla started up but Duchess caught her elbow. “Don’t
walk, “ she commanded, “Crawl over to her.”
Sharla sank to her hands and knees. “And pull your skirt up while you’re at it so everyone can see your pretty bottom.” Sharla pulled her skirt up over her waist and began crawling. “Just a minute,” Duchess said. Sharla stopped. The Duchess continued, “Lower your head, face to the floor, and raise your ass up high in the air, as high as you can get it. That’s it, baby. Now, swing those hips, swing ‘em nice and wide. Yeah, good job, girl.”
Madeline uncrossed her legs so Sharla could kiss both her feet. She was wearing white opened-toed shoes. Her toenails were polished a sunshiny orange. Sharla pressed her mouth down hard on Madeline’s toes giving her right foot a long kiss. Then she kissed the left one the same way. Then, careful not to lift her head up, she apologized to Madeline.
“I’m sorry I insulted you by implying that you are like me,” the slave said in a tremulous voice.
“I forgive you, Sharla,” Madeline said.
“Should I give her a spanking, Madeline?” Duchess asked.
“No,” Madeline said magnanimously, “I think she’s learned her lesson.”
“She better have,” Duchess said. “How about you, Sharla?” Duchess turned to her slave. “Do you think you’ve been punished enough? Or do you believe I should go ahead and spank you?”
“I have no opinion, Milady. I wish only that you do as you see fit,” the submissive quite properly replied.
“O.K., you can come back here. But don’t ever forget your place again.”
Sharla started crawling, holding her skirt up to her waist.
“That’s right, that’s the way. Don’t forget to keep that ass up, that’s it, as high up as you can get it.”
When she got to where Duchess was sitting, her Mistress stopped her and pulled her up and sat Sharla on the couch beside her. Then she put her arms around Sharla and kissed her gently on the mouth. Sharla opened her mouth in response. Duchess caressed her hair and kissed her again on the mouth and then on the neck, lightly. The Great One looked into her slave’s eyes and smiled, still caressing her long hair and holding her hand.
“You’re really beautiful, Sharla,” she said.
“Thank you, Duchess.”
Duchess stroked her hand and touched her face, very lightly, feeling the delicacy of the skin she had slapped. She kissed her again on the mouth but not a French kiss this time. “Are you horny, my sweet slave?”
“Of course, Milady.” Sharla always got horny when Duchess kissed her.
“You want to beat off?”
“I want to make love more.”
“Sorry, about that, Sharla. I don’t feel like it right now. But do you want to play with yourself if I won’t make love with you?”
“Yes, Duchess.”
She held her at arm’s length. “Then get down on the floor and do it, baby.”
Sharla slid to the floor and put both hands on her pussy.
“Stop,” Duchess commanded.
Sharla stopped.
“Is your asshole clean?” the Great One asked.
“Yes. I’m sure it is, Duchess.”
“Then I’ve got to do one thing before you continue.” Duchess left the room for a minute. She came back with a tube of K-Y jelly and a long-handled wooden spoon. She applied a generous amount of lubricant to her own index finger and then inserted it up Sharla’s asshole. She lubed her second finger as well and then slowly pushed both of them up her rectum, leaving them still for a moment to let Sharla’s rectal muscles relax, then moving them around to open her up a bit more. Sharla’s clit was agonizingly hard and she was dripping pussy pudding something awful but she knew better than to touch herself without permission.
Duchess took the spoon and rubbed K-Y over the end of its handle. Then, very carefully, she inserted it between Sharla’s plump round cheeks.
“Now you can beat off,” Duchess said. “But make sure that spoon stays put.”
Sharla put her hands on her crotch and slowly fondled herself, swaying her hips and wooden “tail” as she did so. Speeding up, she moaned softly and started breathing faster. She put one hand behind herself to push the spoon back in deeper when it started to work out of her asshole, causing Madeline to giggle.
“Ohh... ,” Sharla sighed.
Duchess approached the prone slave. “You can lick my boot,” she said when she stood in front of her face.
With one hand still on her clit, she placed her hand on Duchess’s boot and raised her head up just enough to kiss it and feel its cool leather on her tongue as she came. “Oh! Oh! OHHHHHHHHHH!” she screamed.
“What do you say? What do you say to your Mistress who is good enough to let you kiss her feet?”
“Thank you, Duchess.”
“Good slut,” she said, crouching down and stroking her head gently--there was sweat along her face--and chastely pressed her lips against her moist silk-soft face. “My good slave. I think I’ll keep you.”
The three women smiled because they were all pleased with themselves and each other.
* “Marime” describes the shameful condition of those Rom -- usually called “Gypsies” by other people -- who have become “polluted” and therefore shunned by other Rom.
** “Gaje” is used by Rom to mean anyone who is not Rom.
Other Rachel Heath Novels From Pink Flamingo Media
The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women
Ten Stinging Stories: A Spanking Anthology
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